Along with the food, she packed an old blanket she had mended. It wasn’t much, but it might shield him from the wind that never stopped roaring through the ruins of Castle MacDanua. After a moment’s hesitation, she tucked another flat of bread inside the folded cloth. She had eaten once today. That was enough. He needed her share more than she did.
“Ye must eat too,” Rhona quietly scolded, reading her thoughts as easily as a book.
“He needs it more,” Ethne said, tucking everything snug into the basket. “I feel bad for him. He is like us, I think. But worse because he has no one.”
“An outcast too, then.” Rhona perched on a stool beside the table, propped her elbow on it, and rested her chin in her hand. “If ye want, he could stay in the other room this winter.” She nodded faster, as though warming to the idea. “Leastways, he’d be out of the wind that way.”
“Ye need the other room,” Ethne gently reminded her, wishing it wasn’t so.
“Oh, he’d have to come to this side whenever the men came,” Rhona said. “Long as he did that, we’d all get along just fine.” She perked like a cat after a wee mousie. “Ye said he finally quit hiding whenever ye went there, aye?”
Heartwarming satisfaction at finally winning him over made Ethne smile. “Aye. We even talk now. Some days not much, but we always visit a bit. Seems like more each time.” The same warm contentment she felt whenever she was with him filledher. Maybe she did love him because he eased the ache of her loneliness. He was the kindest man she had ever met.
“Then ask him to come and stay,” Rhona urged.
Ethne glanced over at her mother again and shook her head. “I fear it would upset Mama worse than ever. She is saying the words more of late.”
“Same blood but a pure soul sacrificed for the lie told,” Rhona softly repeated while settling a worried look on Ethne’s mother. “Poor Mama. What does it mean? Do ye ken?”
Ethne shook her head. “Only Mama knows. She said her mother told it to her right before they hanged her from the same tree where they hanged Morrigan-the-wicked.”
“’Tis a wonder they didna hang Mama,” Rhona whispered.
Ethne fisted her hands atop the table, stricken with the urge to run over and hug Mama against all the evils in the world. Bitterness soured in her soul as she eyed the horrible, puckered scar covering the left side of Mama’s face. “They said she was too simple to be as evil as the others. But they feared the Morrigan bloodline enough to burn their hatred into her face so none would ever forget her ancestry.”
“Cruel bastards thinking themselves so holy.” Rhona stood and jabbed a finger at the next room. “The same ones who sneak to my door and pay for what their wives willna do. ’Tis a wonder they didna burn ye as well.”
Ethne touched the mark on her throat. “They said the devil had already branded me as one of his own with this and my eyes.” She huffed a bitter laugh. “So now they simply threaten to stone me to keep me away from the village.”
“Ye should throw the rocks back at them.”
“Aye, and then we would all be burned alive here inside our wee cottage.” Ethne tucked the handle of the basket into the crook of her arm. “Better to keep our lives and a roof over our heads, ye ken?” She pointed at the bowl of gruel on the floorbeside the bed. “If she wakes before I return, try to get her to eat more. She’d had naught but a small sip when her mind wandered.”
Rhona nodded, then cast a concerned glance out the window. “Mind the hour, aye? I dinna want ye out there when the mist comes.”
“I’ll be fine. The days are longer, with it being midsummer.”
“Mind the hour,” Rhona repeated in a sterner tone, then gathered her into a fierce hug. “We canna lose ye, Ethne. Mama and I could never bear it.”
“Ye willna lose me. Keep the fire going for Mama, aye?” Ethne eased her way free, then hurried out the door. A glance at the horizon gave her pause. The sun was much lower than she’d first thought. But she had to go. Her dear friend needed his supper just as Mama had needed hers. The poor man whose name he kept to himself would blow away if a stout wind hit. And fierce winds raked across what remained of Castle MacDanua all the time. She had decided that was why her reclusive friend held so tightly to his staff with both hands. He was half bent and with one eye covered with a rag wrapped around his head, it was hard to know his age. His dark, shaggy hair held hints of silver, but very little. But it didn’t matter his age. His one good eye held kindness and maybe even a glimmer of caring.
She smiled and pressed her hand to her chest. She hungered for that kindness and caring. It was a rare treat compared to the hatred and fear she always received from others.
After a quick glance up and down the narrow road, she broke into a run. At least she had the way all to herself by waiting until this late in the day. Nary a soul braved the outdoors when dusk neared and brought the threat of the haunted mist with it. The villagers stayed inside with their windows shuttered and their doors barred until dawn.
Ethne scurried down the path unafraid. Years ago, she had caught the first few strains of the mist’s lonely song. The eerie pipes had entranced her. The troubled melody broke her heart and made her ache to hear the rest. She had wept for the ghost of the poor chieftain of Castle MacDanua and hated the horrid Morrigan-the-wicked even more.
Then Mama had yanked her away from the window, sealed it tight with the board on the ledge, and sang ancient words that Ethne didn’t understand. She had circled Ethne, chanting them over and over until well after sunrise. Frightening Mama in such a way had made her feel so terrible that she never risked listening to the pipes again.
“Friend?” she called out as she climbed over a low spot in the crumbling wall that once guarded the impressive stronghold that had watched over Tarbat Ness. The east tower still stood at the cliff’s edge. Surviving with it was the keep, although part of its roof was long gone. Time had shorn off the other towers, collapsing them into nothing more than mounds of stone. “Friend?” she called louder. She strained to hear above the incessant wind and the sea’s crashing waves. “Are ye here?”
“It is late, Ethne. Ye shouldna be here.”
His deep voice made her heart beat faster. It always did. It was as though her soul recognized his and leapt for joy. She turned and spotted him in the shadowy doorway of what might have once been the family kirk. She hurried over to him, lifting her basket for him to see. “Ye had to have yer supper. I couldna bear the thought of ye going hungry.”
“I would be fine, lass,” he reassured her gently but firmly. “Now hie yerself back to yer home. The haar comes soon.” He didn’t look at her, just glared downward with his jaw set and his knuckles white from his grip on his staff. Had she angered him by being late?
“I’ve plenty of time.” She took the blanket from the basket, shook it out, and draped it around his bent shoulders. “I mended this for ye. It’s not much, but I thought it might help keep the wind from cutting ye so.”
